


The War Rehabilitation Centre

by whimsymanaged



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Post-War, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsymanaged/pseuds/whimsymanaged
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, the Ministry of Magic makes it mandatory for anyone who fought in the war to check into the newly constructed War Rehabilitation Centre. Hermione Granger finds herself sharing a ward with the person she least expects.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Comments: 18
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic on AO3 (and the first one I'm posting in probably a decade), so I'm nervous! Hope you like it. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and the Wizarding World belong to the great J.K. Rowling.

In the middle of what will be the last battle of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger finds herself standing across from Draco Malfoy in a corner of the raging battlefield.

Her body thrums with adrenaline as she stares down the childhood bully who could soon be the man who kills her. His blond hair, always slicked back at school, is dirt-streaked and falling into eyes that are filled with fear. He’s bloody and leaning too far to one side, and she’s not much better off.

“Don’t make me do this, Granger.” He spits, but the tremor in his arm says more than his lips do.

If he sends a curse her way, she will have to respond, but all the spells on the tip of her tongue are to immobilize, to buy her more time, and not to kill. Chaos surrounds them, and the screams are making her ears ring and bile rise in her throat. It’s too much, but she has to focus because every moment is life and death here, and she wants to live.

Any second now, someone from the Order will see her facing off with Malfoy and make a call. Malfoy has always been hateful towards her, but she doesn’t want him to die. In her last years at Hogwarts, she began to see through his infuriating cockiness and unending bravado to the scared, incredibly misguided teenager underneath. A terrible person, maybe, but not the worst she has encountered by far. He doesn’t deserve to die at nineteen.

“You exceeded at Potions class.” She starts speaking without knowing why, a rare occurrence for her. “You idolised your father, you got packages of sweets delivered from home, you laughed with your friends... I did all of those things too. I might not be a Pureblood, but I’m still a person.” 

“They don’t agree with that.” Malfoy’s eyes are darting around, panicked. She notes his use of “they” rather than “we”. “Th-they don’t think you deserve to live. And we’re not the same, Granger, so don’t imply that we are.”

“You’re right.” She concedes. She’s never had a real conversation with Malfoy before, and in the heat of battle doesn’t seem like a good time to have their first one. But here they are. “We’re not the same. I had a choice of which side to join. Did you?”

“Fuck you!”

It’s less than a split second later that Hermione is flat on her back in the mud, a body on top of hers. Draco Malfoy’s body. But he’s not dead weight or trying to attack her; he’s breathing hard, and he screams out the words Hermione hasn’t yet had to yell, words aimed at somebody else. A green jet bursts out of his wand, and Hermione turns her head just in time to see Corban Yaxley thudding to the ground.

“Malfoy.” Her eyes are wide, and her voice is coming out in gasps. She can’t understand what just happened. He just killed a Death Eater, someone on his side of the war. Does Malfoy want to claim her death for himself? Was he aiming for someone else? Her mind is spinning. “Malfoy. He—you—he—”

“Shut the fuck up, Granger!” Malfoy scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide and wild. “He was going to kill you!”

“I thought _you_ were going to kill me.” Her voice is shrill as she gets up too, and she hears someone bellow Malfoy’s name.

“Fuck.” The blood drains from his face nearly completely, and he gives her a look she can’t interpret. “Granger—”

“Come with me.” She grabs his arm. “Come with me, come with me.”

She pulls him in the direction of the dense woods nearby. Lights are flashing all around them, and they stumble and duck to avoid being maimed or murdered. She finally gets him behind some trees, and she digs in her pocket for the small pouch she always has with her.

She hastily tugs the drawstrings of the pouch open and looks up into Malfoy’s eyes. “I’m going to give you a Portkey. It’ll take you to St. Mungo’s—just tell them ‘1909’. That’s my code. You’ll be safe there.”

He’s shaking his head, angry for some reason. “No. That’s _yours_ , Granger. I’ll—”

“You can’t Apparate there.” She reminds him. St. Mungo’s put up wards against Apparition as soon as the war began; the staff didn’t want any harm coming to their patients. “This is the only way, unless you want to Apparate outside the building, in which case you could be immediately attacked. And considering the state you’re in, you’ll likely splinch yourself anyway.”

“I don’t need to go to St. Mungo’s. I just need to get out of here.”

“We don’t have _time_ for this, Malfoy.” She says, exasperated. “If you stay here a minute longer, you’ll be killed. I can take my chances because I didn’t just _murder one of my own._ Take the Portkey. St. Mungo’s will give you sanctuary as long as you tell them my code. 1909.”

“Your birthday.”

This catches her off guard. “Y-yes. Exactly. Now, go.”

She grabs his hand and turns his palm up, then releases him as she shakes a Knut out of the pouch.

As soon as the coin touches him, he’s gone.

She shoves the now-empty pouch into her pocket and sprints back onto the battlefield with her wand out. She just helped Draco Malfoy, the same person she thought was going to kill her ten minutes ago. And she helped him because he saved her life. None of it makes sense.

She ducks another green jet of light, sends a _Stupefy_ in the direction the curse came from, and runs to find Harry and Ron.

*****

At the end of the battle, Voldemort is defeated, and over the next several weeks, the remaining Death Eaters are rounded up and thrown into Azkaban.

Kingsley Shacklebolt takes over as interim Minister of Magic, and the first thing he does is set up the War Rehabilitation Centre. The Ministry buys over an old hospital in Muggle London, charms it so that Muggles don’t notice it, and refurbishes the hospital completely. Shacklebolt makes it mandatory for anyone who fought in the war to check themselves into the centre, which is how Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny find themselves standing in the centre’s reception area a week after the last Death Eater is put into Azkaban.

They are greeted by a harried middle-aged woman who is bustling out from a back area with her wand stuck behind her ear and her nose in the parchment in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, dears; we’re checking in so many people at the moment that it’s hard to keep up.” The woman says as she finally looks up at them. All at once, her eyes fill with tears and the parchment falls from her hands. “Harry Potter.”

Harry rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably as he hitches the bag he’s holding up his shoulder. Despite having been famous since he was an infant, Harry still doesn’t know how to deal with his celebrity, which has increased a thousand-fold since the fall of Voldemort.

“And you!” The lady turns to Ron and Hermione. “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Oh, to see you three in the flesh…”

Ron’s ears have turned as red as his hair, and Hermione looks at the floor.

Ginny clears her throat. “Yes, hello. We would like to check in.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, of course.” The lady wipes her tears away and _Accio_ s the parchment back into her hands. “Right this way.”

She leads them over to a counter and hands them forms to complete just as another group of people enter the reception area. The lady hurries over to attend to them as Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny use the provided quills and ink to scratch out their personal information in silence. When they’ve handed their forms back to her, Ron asks, “How long do you reckon we’ll have to stay here?”

“It’s two weeks minimum.” She tells him. “We expect the rehabilitation period to be much longer for some, but for those who were minimally involved in battles or who might not have been as seriously affected, two weeks should set them right as rain.”

“Minimally involved.” Harry grimaces, and Hermione smiles at him. Harry looks over at her with a rueful grin. “Not exactly how I would describe us.”

“You could be here for years, mate.” Ron thumps Harry’s shoulder affectionately.

Harry laughs. “If I have to stay here for years, you do too.”

The reception area is quickly filling with people, and the murmurs are getting louder as more people notice Harry. Thankfully, the reception lady sees this and ushers Harry and the rest of their group through a door that requires some intricate spellwork to open. She passes them off to a burly man with an impressive moustache, who leads them down a narrow hallway and into a small, bright room.

“Right.” The man grunts as he looks them over. “Here are the rules: we’ll keep your wands until you check out. No shoelaces. No drawstrings of any kind. Nothing sharp. You may bring in some clothes and a few personal items. If we find any prohibited items on you, we will confiscate them. You may have them back at the end of your time here.”

“No wands?” Hermione bursts out, indignant. “Why? How are we supposed to defend ourselves if the need arises?”

“None of the other patients in the centre will have a wand.” The man says in a bored voice. It’s clear he’s been repeating this all day. “All patients will be closely watched by our staff. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

“That’s not particularly reassuring.” Hermione snaps, crossing her arms over her chest, and Ginny puts a hand on her arm.

The man shrugs. “Those are the rules. Take them up with the Minister. If you don’t want to abide by them, you can leave. But anyone who fought in the war and does not complete their rehabilitation time will not be able to further their education or become employed anywhere.”

Hermione already knew the part about employment and school, but to have to hand over their wands is absurd. Their wands are the only things keeping them safe. She lifts her chin and looks the man in the eye. “What if there are people here out to get Harry? What if there are Death Eaters who slipped under the radar? The war might be over, but that doesn’t mean that everything is happy and perfect, and to be quite honest—”

The man raises one hand to stop her. “I understand your concerns, madam. Believe me, you’re not the first one to express them. We have taken all necessary precautions.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” She snaps in response.

“Hermione.” Harry’s voice is quiet, and she glances over at him reluctantly. He offers her a small smile. “We’ve already survived the worst.”

“And I reckon the purpose of being here is to learn how to stop worrying about being under attack, yeah?” Ron nudges her with a grin of his own. “None of us want to give up our wands, but I read about this place. All the Healers and Mediwizards and witches were put through tests and interviews, and only the best were hired.”

Hermione can’t help softening. “You researched the rehab centre?”

Ron squeezes her arm. “Of course. Knew you’d be worried.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. This situation is far from ideal, but it doesn’t look like she has much of a choice, and at least her friends are with her. She opens her eyes and nods at the man. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

The man continues his briefing about the centre, outlining the sessions they’ll be expected to attend, such as Group Therapy and individual time with Mind Healers. Depending on their current state, they might be required to meet with other specialists as well. There will be free time for activities, and they will take their meals with the other patients in their ward. Each room allows for two patients, and they can request for any items they need from the staff. After an initial assessment by a Healer and Mind Healer, they will be given an estimate of how long they will need to stay.

“Blimey.” Ron scrubs a hand over his face. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Have we already been assigned our ward, then?” Ginny asks the man.

He nods. “Follow me.”

They follow the man down the hallway and up two flights of stairs before they come to a plain brown door.

“Ward 31.” The man announces before casting a series of spells—after a moment, the door swings open. As soon as Hermione and her friends are inside the door, the man leaves, locking the door behind him.

Ginny looks at the other three. “Well, that was slightly worrying.”

Hermione arches an eyebrow. “Which part?”

“All the parts.” Ginny says, her lips quirking.

“At least we’re all in the same ward.” Harry sighs, running a hand through his shock of hair. “This would be much worse if they’d separated us.”

“Why, hello!” A young Mediwitch with black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail bounds up to them. She’s smiling so widely that it instantly makes Hermione feel grumpier. “My name is Annmarie, and I’m one of the Mediwitches in your ward! Always happy to have some newcomers!”

“Hi, Annmarie.” Ginny says politely. “How—"

“Oh.” Annmarie clasps a hand to her chest suddenly. “No. The Golden Trio? And Ginny Weasley, yes? Wow. I’m starstruck.”

She shakes her head as if to collect herself. “Starstruck, but professional, of course. Everything that happens within these walls is strictly confidential. Now, you’ll need to hand over your wands and any prohibited items now, and I’ll store them for you.”

Politely ignoring Annmarie’s starstruck moment, they hand their wands over, start removing shoelaces, and dig through the bags they brought for any other items the man had told them wouldn’t be allowed. Annmarie sends the prohibited items into storage with a flick of her wand, and then she checks each of their bags thoroughly. It seems like an hour has passed before she’s finally done and gives them another too-wide beam. “Right, then! You’re all set. Let me show you to your rooms!”

She takes Harry and Ron to their room first, and then she whisks Hermione and Ginny over to a small room in the corner.

“Let me know if you need anything! I’ll be at my post at the ward station.” Annmarie tells them cheerfully before disappearing down the hallway.

Ginny looks at Hermione and gestures to the two small beds. “Window or door?”

“I’ll take the door.” Hermione says. She’s just relieved to be sharing a room with Ginny.

Ginny tosses her bag onto the mattress closer to the window as Hermione sets her own bag down on the floor. They put away the few articles of clothing they brought with them and start unfolding the clean sheets on the empty dressers to make their beds.

Hermione is smoothing down the last corner of her bedsheet when she sees something in the hallway that almost makes her heart stop.

“Hermione?” Ginny sounds worried. War has made them all highly attuned to each other’s moods.

“I thought I saw…” Hermione trails off as she walks towards the door and peers around the doorframe.

And there he is.

“Malfoy.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but the bright blond head whips around as if she shouted.

Draco Malfoy, who she last saw disappearing with her Portkey after he had inexplicably saved her life, is a patient in Ward 31.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and reviews! Hope you enjoy this one.

Hermione can’t stop staring at Malfoy.

His hair has been cut, shorter at the sides and the back than she’s ever seen it. The last time she saw him, his leg looked like it might be broken, but he’s standing normally now, and his clothes are clean. Even for all these improvements, there are dark bags under his grey eyes, and his cheekbones jut out like he hasn’t had a good meal in a long time.

“Granger.” His eyes flit over her, and his voice sounds gravelly from lack of use.

Ginny comes up beside Hermione and says in surprise, “Malfoy. You’re here too.”

“It appears so.” Malfoy says dryly. He must be as shocked to see them as they are to see him, but he doesn’t show it. “Nice to see you again, Weasley.”

And then he turns on his heel and continues down the hall, disappearing through a doorway.

Hermione and Ginny exchange glances. Ginny—and Harry and Ron, for that matter—know all about Malfoy saving Hermione’s life. When Hermione’s injuries were being treated at St. Mungo’s following the final battle, she told Shacklebolt about what had happened between her and Malfoy. Malfoy’s trial with the Wizenmagot was rushed since the Ministry wanted every Death Eater imprisoned as soon as possible, and with Hermione not well enough to attend the trial, Shacklebolt had brought her testimony before the jury for her. Along with Harry’s testimony of Malfoy’s reluctance to kill Albus Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, the Wizenmagot had dropped the charges against Malfoy.

She hadn’t been aware of what had happened to Malfoy since then, only knowing that his father had been sent to Azkaban and his mother had been allowed to return to the Malfoy Manor on house arrest, her biggest crime being serving as an unwilling host to Voldemort, the other Death Eaters, and any prisoners Voldemort had kept.

“Of course we would be in the same ward as Malfoy.” Ginny sighs now, pressing a hand to her forehead as though she feels a headache coming on. She peers up at Hermione from under her hand. “How are you feeling, Hermione? Was it strange to see him for the first time since… you know?”

Hermione swallows, looking back out into the hallway. “Not strange, just different. I’m used to him being this horrible bully, and now I’m not quite sure what to think.”

“Well, you could stop staring at him open-mouthed whenever you run into him, for one.” Ginny says cheekily, and Hermione’s cheeks grow hot even as she glares at Ginny. She hadn’t been _staring_.

Ginny starts to laugh, one of the first times Hermione’s heard her laugh since the war. “I mean, I know he saved your life, Hermione, but Merlin. If I were you, I’d thank him, not gape at him like he was the last male on Earth.”

“Ginny! You’re exaggerating.”

Ginny’s smile only grows wider, and she links her arm through Hermione’s. “Come on, let’s see who else is here.”

To their surprise, they know nearly everybody else in the ward, and Hermione can only deduce that they’ve all been put together for comfort’s sake (although she doesn’t quite understand the addition of Malfoy—perhaps he’s there because of her testimony and Harry’s). Hannah Abbott is staying in a room with Penelope Clearwater, and Lee Jordan and Terry Boot are in the next room. Parvati and Padma Patil are in another of the rooms, and then…

“Neville!” Hermione throws her arms around Neville Longbottom’s neck as soon as she sees him. Her eyes are watery, but they both ignore that as they beam at each other. Neville has a jagged scar cutting across one eyebrow, but other than that, he doesn’t look any worse for wear.

He squeezes Hermione’s arms and smiles at Ginny over her shoulder. “Did you two just check in? You won’t believe who my roommate is.”

Ginny gasps. “No.”

Neville looks amused. “Have you already seen him, then?”

“Draco Malfoy is your roommate?” Hermione says in horror and then immediately lowers her voice. “How long have you been here? Are you alright?”

Neville chuckles, and Hermione is slightly in awe of this more laidback, more confident version of Neville. The old Neville, the one she last spent any significant amount of time with in their sixth year before she had gone Horcrux-hunting with Harry and Ron, would have been trembling in his boots at being placed in a room with Malfoy. She wonders when this confidence came about, though she suspects it has something to do with him having co-led Dumbledore’s Army in Harry’s absence. “I’ve been here for three days, and he checked in yesterday. It’s not been too bad. Probably too soon to tell, though.”

“Well, let us know if he gives you any trouble, although you’re more than equipped to handle him yourself.” Ginny says, and Neville blushes.

“Ron and Harry are here too.” Hermione tells him.

His eyes light up. “Excellent! It’s like a Hogwarts reunion, yeah?”

“Except the Slytherins are by far outnumbered.” Ginny quips, which makes Neville laugh and Hermione grimace.

“Yeah, Malfoy’s always been a right arse, but he likely needs someone in his corner right now.” Neville says, glancing behind him. “I think he’s gone into the recreation room, not sure for what. He’s not said much since he’s arrived.”

“I’m sure Hermione will keep an eye on him for us.” Ginny says innocently.

Hermione scowls, and Neville’s eyebrows shoot up in interest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Hermione bristles, and Neville, the kind soul that he is, lets it drop.

“Want to get some lunch? It’s about time for us to eat.” Neville tips his head in the direction of an open door nearby. Hermione knows from walking around with Ginny that the room in question contains a number of tables and chairs. “We take our meals in there.”

They follow Neville into the room. Lee Jordan sits in a corner by himself, and he gives them a halfhearted smile before averting his eyes, a clear signal that he wants to be alone. Hermione doesn’t know Lee all that well, but he was best friends with the Weasley twins. George Weasley is still at St. Mungo’s under a Mind Healer’s strict observation, and nobody has come to terms with the loss of Fred yet. She doesn’t blame him for not wanting to talk.

They sit at a table near the middle of the room, and Neville says, “I s’pose you haven’t gone through your initial assessment yet?”

Both women shake their heads.

“Does that determine what we eat?” Hermione asks curiously.

“That’s one part of it, yeah.” Neville says. “They’ll give you regular meals until they assess you, and then they’ll serve you food according to your dietary needs. For example, they’ve been giving me lots of spinach and red meat because I have an iron deficiency from the internal bleeding.”

Although Hermione saw a lot of her friends’ suffering first-hand, it’s still difficult to hear about it. She does her best to smile. “Red meat? Sounds like a good diet to me.”

She pauses, then says, “Have you noticed what Malfoy’s been eating?”

“About 50 percent smooth, Hermione.” Ginny comments unnecessarily.

Neville thinks Hermione's question over. “I haven’t been paying that much attention, but he did get a lot of fruit at breakfast. Needs more vitamins, maybe.”

“Neville!” Ron and Harry burst into the room just then, and they wrap Neville in bear hugs and thump his back enthusiastically. All three men are talking at once, and Ginny leans her head on Hermione’s shoulder as they take it in. Hermione’s heart squeezes at the rare display of joy.

Harry and Ron sit down at their table, and Ron slings his arm around Neville’s shoulders. “Right, mate! So, tell us all about this place. Have you done the group therapy thing yet? Any staff members we can get to loan us our wands now and then?”

Neville laughs, his cheeks pink with happiness. “I haven’t been here long enough to know who can be persuaded, no. Group therapy’s a little weird, but I s’pose it’ll get easier with time.”

“Is the food good?” Harry asks, rubbing his hands together even as he casts a soft smile in Ginny’s direction. Harry and Ginny have been almost inseparable since the war ended.

“It’s great, actually.” Neville says. “You wouldn’t think it would be since this is sort of like a hospital, but every meal I’ve had so far has been amazing.”

Parvati comes in then, drying her hair with a towel, and sits at the table next to theirs. “About time you lot checked in! I think that rounds out our ward, doesn’t it, Neville? Annmarie said 12 was the maximum number of patients.” 

“Where’s Padma?” Ron asks with a grin.

Parvati looks away, pretending to be busy with folding her towel. “Not feeling well. She’ll get her lunch later.”

Hannah, Terry, and Penelope enter the room, and they all greet Harry and Ron excitedly. Ginny and Hermione had already chatted with them earlier as they were exploring the ward, and so they make conversation with Neville as they wait for lunch to be served.

Staff members start bringing trays of food around, each tray carefully labelled with someone’s name. Hannah, Terry, and Penelope go to sit with Parvati as one of the staff members places a tray of steak, spinach, and potatoes in front of Neville.

Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron each get a tray of fish and chips, and they dig in eagerly. They’ve been eating okay since returning to the Burrow after each of their stints at St. Mungo’s, but no one around the Burrow has really felt like cooking. The fish and chips are delicious, and Hermione smiles as she watches Ron inhale the food like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

She’s almost done with her plate when Malfoy finally enters the room. Her eyes follow him as he goes to an empty table in the opposite corner from Lee, and one of the staff members sets a tray of pasta heaped with tomato sauce in front of him. Three oranges sit next to the pasta.

As he’s picking up his fork, he looks up and catches her eye. Hermione realises that she’s frowning and quickly smooths out her features before turning back to her food. When everyone at her table’s done eating, Neville asks if they want to catch up in the rec room. Harry and Ron start to scrape their chairs back as their trays magically vanish, and Ginny looks over her shoulder at Hermione. “Coming?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’m going to stay here for a bit.”

Ginny’s eyes flicker over to Malfoy and back to Hermione, and for the first time that afternoon, she doesn’t tease. “Alright. We’ll see you in there, then.”

Ginny slips her hand into Harry’s, and Harry and Ron wave see-you-laters to Hermione as they follow Neville out of the dining area.

Hermione stands slowly and makes her way over to Malfoy’s table.

He’s still eating his pasta, and without looking up, he says, “I tackled you on a battlefield; I didn’t make you a friendship bracelet.”

She takes that as an invitation to sit, and he scowls at his oranges.

After a minute, she says, “Thank you. For what you did that day. I don’t know why you did it, but I’ll always be grateful.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Are you going to eat all three of those oranges?”

This gets his attention, and his head snaps up. “Are you trying to steal my food, Granger? You do know you’re free to ask the staff for seconds?”

Hermione sucks her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “I was just asking. I like oranges as much as the next person, but three seems like overkill.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Do you have a vitamin C deficiency?”

He drops his fork with a clatter, glaring at her so hard that she’s surprised she doesn’t burst into flames. “That’s a very rude question.”

Hermione bites back a smile. She knows she shouldn’t be agitating him, especially when she had come over to thank him, but it’s just so easy. He might have saved her life, and he might be scarily gaunt at the moment, but he’s still so unwaveringly _Malfoy_. “It’s just a question. Considering how many oranges—”

“Stop looking at my oranges, Granger.” He snaps suddenly, which makes a bubble of laughter rise in Hermione’s throat. His eyebrows slam together. “Stop asking me questions. Stop talking to me. You have Potter, and the two Weasleys, and Longbottom, and every other fucking person in this ward to talk to, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

For some reason, after his outburst, another question springs to her mind. “That day, during the battle... how did you know when my birthday was?”

Malfoy gets up and leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses mental health issues, as will most of the chapters since they're in a rehab centre.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love reading all of your reviews. :)

After lunch, Hermione has her initial assessment with the ward’s Healer and Mind Healer.

She meets with the Healer first, a woman who looks around Hermione’s mum’s age. The Healer introduces herself as Gretel Sanchez, and she starts the consultation by asking Hermione about her general medical history and then about her health specifically from the last year or so. Hermione tells her about her stay at St. Mungo’s after the last battle, when she was treated for moderate burns, two broken ribs, and a leg wound.

Healer Sanchez asks Hermione to list out all the spells she was hit with during the war and waits as Hermione tries to recall each of them. Most of the spells don’t cause any lasting damage, but there’s one that has, and Hermione’s tongue trips over its name in her reluctance to say it out loud.

“Mmm.” Healer Sanchez purses her lips. “Have you noticed any aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse?”

Hermione thinks of herself as a brave person, but she’s having difficulty meeting Healer Sanchez’s eyes now. She can only imagine what the assessment with the Mind Healer will be like. “I have spasms sometimes. Usually in my left arm."

Healer Sanchez nods. “I can prescribe you with a potion to make those less frequent, although I can’t promise they’ll go away completely for several more months.”

She casts a few diagnostic spells and seems pleased with the results. “You’re in reasonably good health considering you’ve just come out of a war. I did detect the spasms you mentioned, but nothing else residual.”

The corners of Healer Sanchez’s lips lift as she adds, “One of the diagnostic spells was a blood test, and I’m happy to report that your blood is perfect.”

The way she says this makes Hermione feel warm, and she wonders if Healer Sanchez is Muggle-born too.

“However, you’re about six kilos underweight.” Healer Sanchez continues. “I’d like to see you get your weight up over the next few weeks. Big meals, Miss Granger. You deserve it.”

With that, she leaves Hermione in the consultation room, and a tall, intimidatingly handsome man takes her place. He introduces himself as Mind Healer Thomas Kim, and he asks Hermione a series of questions about her involvement in the war. Hermione keeps her voice as level as possible as she gives him a brief summary of her time Horcrux-hunting with Ron and Harry and of the battles she participated in.

“We lost a lot of good people in the war.” Healer Kim says once she’s done. “How are you coping with the losses you’ve experienced?”

Hermione clears her throat. “I know everyone has been struggling, and… and I’m no different. I’ve also… well. Harry was dead for a few minutes. My best friend. I thought…”

Tears spring to her eyes. She wishes they hadn’t. She doesn’t want to cry right now, not in front of this Mind Healer she doesn’t know. “And my parents.”

This is the wrong thing to think of if she wants to keep her tears at bay. “I sent them to Australia under a memory charm. They don’t know who I am. It was for their own safety, and I haven’t had the chance to get them back yet.”

Healer Kim nods. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

She can’t speak, so she just nods back at him.

“Have you been eating well? Sleeping well? Have you found a new routine?”

“I’m eating normally.” Hermione says honestly. She was surprised to hear that she needed to gain six kilos. She doesn’t think she’s ever been below a healthy weight, but she, Ron, and Harry rationed their food when they camped, and there were some days when she was too busy strategizing and worrying to eat. Since being discharged from St. Mungo’s, she’s been eating as she did before the war. She supposes it hasn’t been long enough for her to have gained the weight back. “I don’t sleep well. I have a lot of nightmares. Ginny tells me…”

Hermione looks down at her hands. “Ginny tells me I scream a lot.”

“Miss Granger.” Healer Kim waits until she meets his eyes before saying kindly, “This is normal after going through what you’ve been through.”

Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t feel normal.”

“This is the difficult part.” Healer Kim’s voice is gentle. “Unfortunately, there are no quick fixes for experienced trauma, but I’m happy to prescribe you with Dreamless Sleep potions to take when necessary. If you feel comfortable, you should talk to your friends about how you’re feeling. Social support is important. And, of course, I’m on call around the clock should you ever need to talk. Just let Annmarie know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.” Hermione says. It seems insufficient, but she doesn’t know what else to say.

Healer Kim excuses himself from the room to have a short discussion with Healer Sanchez, and then they both return.

“Healer Kim and I would like for you to stay in the rehab centre for at least two months.” Healer Sanchez tells Hermione. “I will prescribe you with a muscle relaxing potion to be taken every morning, and Healer Kim will prescribe you with Dreamless Sleep potions to be taken as necessary. You’ll be given double portions of your meals for the next week or so, and we’ll check in on your weight again after that. Do you have any questions for us?”

“Two months?” Hermione is shocked, although she probably shouldn’t be. “That’s… that’s rather long, isn’t it? I need to make a trip to Australia, and I was hoping to take my N.E.W.T.s as soon as possible so that I can start applying for jobs.”

“You can certainly study for your N.E.W.T.s while you’re here.” Healer Kim says. “Just let the staff know what textbooks you need, and they’ll do their best to get them for you.”

He pauses. “As for Australia… I apologise, but that will have to wait until you’ve been discharged.”

Logically, Hermione understands the necessity of rehabilitation, but two months is longer than she was expecting. She takes a deep breath. “Is there any chance I may be discharged earlier? I’ll come back to do any necessary sessions."

“Two months is the shortest term we can offer you at the moment, Miss Granger.” Healer Sanchez says firmly. “We’re sorry, and we hope you understand.”

The Healers turn to leave, but then Healer Sanchez looks back at Hermione. “I don’t know about Australia, but… two months are nothing when you’re on the fast track to becoming Minister for Magic.”

She closes the door behind her.

Hermione takes a deep breath, trying to come to terms with everything that’s been said in the past hour or so. Two months without her wand is like two months without one of her limbs. Two months before she can see her parents again. She knows it could be worse, but she wishes it was better.

Then she thinks about Healer Sanchez’s parting words and lets herself smile just a tiny bit. A Healer believes Hermione is on the fast track to becoming Minister for Magic. Of course, that’s her end goal, but she’s surprised that someone who barely knows her would even think her capable.

She finally stands and leaves the room, going to the rec room to find her friends. Ginny’s curled up on one of the couches, flipping through an old Quidditch magazine, and Ron and Harry are laughing over a game of Wizard’s Chess as Neville smiles over their shoulders.

Harry grins at Hermione when she walks in. “How’d the assessment go? Any luck getting out of here?”

“No, unfortunately.” Hermione sighs, dropping onto the couch next to Ginny. “They’ve given me two months minimum.”

Ron groans, shaking his head. “That’s terrible, Hermione. Well, I just hope we’ll all be given the same length of stay. I wouldn’t want to be here without you lot.”

Annmarie pokes her head into the room and smiles at the group. “Ah, there you are. Mr. Weasley? It’s time for your assessment.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Ron mutters, then looks abashed. “Sorry. Just don’t like people poking around in my mind.”

Annmarie looks amused. “Understandable. At least they don’t use Legilimency, yeah? Come on, off you go. I’ll take you to the consultation room.”

Ron reluctantly follows Annmarie out the door, and Harry gestures for Neville to take Ron’s place in the game, which Neville happily does.

“How was your conversation with Malfoy?” Ginny asks Hermione in a low voice. “I assume that’s why you stayed behind at lunch.”

“I just said thank you.” Hermione says, and then she smiles. “And I asked him one too many questions, I suppose. He ended up leaving.”

“How rude.” Ginny smiles too. “I wonder how long he’s been told to stay here.”

“It would have to be longer than two months, wouldn’t it?” Hermione says. “Who knows what sorts of horrors he witnessed at his home during the war?”

“Do you think he’d be bothered by that sort of thing?” Ginny raises an eyebrow.

Hermione frowns. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“I don’t know, Hermione.” Ginny looks doubtful. “You’re focusing on one moment of kindness. I’m not sure he has more than one of those moments in him.”

This evaluation of Malfoy bothers Hermione, perhaps because she doesn’t want it to be true. She rests her cheek in one hand, thinking this over, and Ginny says, “You look exhausted. Do you want to take a nap?"

She does feel tired, probably from everything that was dredged up during her assessment. She gets up, stretching her arms. “You’ll come get me if anything happens?”

Ginny’s features soften. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“But if it does?” Hermione presses.

Ginny looks like she wants to argue, but she just nods. “Yes, of course I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks.” Hermione leaves the room and makes her way down the hallway towards her bedroom. She’s almost there when she glances into one of the other bedrooms and sees Malfoy sitting on the floor, his head pressed to his knees.

“Malfoy?” She steps into his room without thinking too much about it. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get someone?”

She thinks she hears him mumble something along the lines of “just bloody perfect”, but she can’t be sure.

She notices that his body is shaking, and she knows what this is. She hasn’t had one yet, but she knows Harry has been getting them occasionally since the war ended. She hesitates before easing the door shut and sliding down to the floor next to him.

She holds one of her hands out between them, palm up. “Take my hand.”

There’s a long pause, and then: “I’m not holding your fucking hand, Granger.”

“It might help.” She says. She holds Harry’s hand during his panic attacks, and he says it grounds him. She doesn’t think it’s just because they’re best friends. There’s something comforting about knowing someone’s there with you, holding you to the Earth when everything else seems wrong side up.

Malfoy stays with his head against his knees, and his breaths are coming fast and shallow.

“Deep breaths.” Hermione says quietly. She demonstrates, taking one long, slow breath and then letting it out equally slowly.

To her surprise, Malfoy actually does what she says.

“That’s it.” Her voice is almost a whisper. She knows she doesn’t have a particularly soothing voice like Muggle therapists always seem to, so she decides whispering might be her best option. “Breathe in… breathe out. You’re okay, Malfoy. You’re going to be okay.”

His breath rattles as he inhales, and on the exhale, completely unexpectedly, he reaches out and takes her hand.

Even though she was the one who offered it, her heart just about stops.

His palm is clammy, and he’s squeezing her hand so tightly that she almost regrets offering it in the first place. Despite the force of his squeeze, she can still feel the tremble in his fingers. They’re palm to palm, thumb over thumb, and she leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes.

“Think of something peaceful.” She suggests. “When I feel like… like I’m losing it, I think of sitting in the library at Hogwarts. There was that one table by the window, and I liked sitting there as the sun was setting. The chairs were just comfortable enough, and the table was always so clean and smooth. I’d spread my books across the table—”

“Your library kink isn’t doing it for me.” Malfoy mutters.

Hermione stops, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s not—it’s not a _kink!_ The library is a peaceful place!”

She almost harrumphs, but then she remembers that he’s in the midst of a panic attack. She makes herself simmer down. “Alright, then. What’s a peaceful place for you?”

He stays quiet for so long that she thinks he’s ignoring her. She’s counted to 217 in her head before he says, “There’s a big field near the Manor. I used to practice flying there whenever I wasn’t at Hogwarts.”

She tries to picture this. What a strangely normal thing for Malfoy to do. She would have thought his free time was all spent in his bedroom coming up with evil schemes and mean names to call any non-Slytherin Hogwarts students. She smiles at the thought. “What’s the field like?”

“It’s a field, Granger. There’s grass.”

She cracks an eye open to look at him. His face is no longer in his knees; he’s leaned back like her, but there’s tension in his brow, and his hand is still squeezing hers too hard.

“Yes, I know what a field is, thank you.” She retorts. “You could be a little more specific, you know.”

“The grass is green.”

“Merlin’s beard.” Hermione grumbles. “You should be a poet.”

“And there are insects in the grass.”

“Alright, I think I get the picture.” Hermione snaps. She notices that his face is doing something weird. Oh. He’s smiling. It’s not that it’s an unpleasant smile; it’s just not one Hermione can recall having seen before. Smirks, yes. Sneers, almost every time she’s seen him. Smiles—she’ll have to think about that one a little more.

He’s loosened his grip enough so that feeling is coming back to her fingers, and she resists the urge to shake her hand out.

“I took a calming potion right before you came in.” He says. “It usually works after five minutes or so.”

She eyes him. “Are you trying to make sure I don’t take any credit?”

His lips twitch. “I just want to be sure you know you’re not some sort of Mind Healer.”

“Note taken.” She looks down at their joined hands. Why are they still holding hands? She gives his closed eyes another suspicious look, but she doesn’t want to pull away if it’s actually helping.

As if reading her mind, he removes his hand from hers and makes a show of wiping it on his trousers. Hermione rolls her eyes. Honestly.

“This is why I killed Yaxley.”

It’s the last thing Hermione was expecting him to say. She stares at him. “What?”

He opens his eyes and looks at her. She’s never been this close to him, and his eyes are a lighter grey than she would have thought.

“You’re the nosiest bloody person I’ve ever met.” He says.

She’s confused. “And… that’s why you killed Yaxley?”

“Yes.”

She doesn’t think anyone in the world has the brainpower to process this. There’s something wrong with Malfoy. “I don’t understand.”

The door swings open, and Neville steps inside the room. He halts mid-step when he sees Hermione and Malfoy sitting on the floor. “Oh. Hullo.”

Hermione gets to her feet abruptly, and her voice comes out a little squeaky. “Hi, Neville. Did you win the game?”

Neville looks puzzled, his gaze darting from her to Malfoy and then back to her. “Er… no. Harry won. I’m sorry; I should have knocked.”

“No, it’s fine.” Hermione says. She doesn’t know why she’s so flustered. It’s not like she and Malfoy were doing anything illicit. Well… they _had_ been holding hands, but that was because of his panic attack. She glances over her shoulder at Malfoy. It looks like the potion he took has kicked in—he’s stopped shaking, and his body is more relaxed. She turns back to Neville. “Well, I’m going now. To take a nap. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, alright. Have a good rest, Hermione.” Neville says, still looking perplexed.

She slips out of the room without saying goodbye to Malfoy. She’s too confused. _You’re the nosiest bloody person I’ve ever met._ That’s his big reason for saving her? What sort of reason was that?

“Infuriating.” She mutters to herself as she goes into her room and closes the door.

And as she drifts into her nap, she most certainly does not think about grey eyes or clammy hands.


End file.
